


Resounding Melancholy

by SapphyreLily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Siren, Slight Angst?, based on a song yet again heh, fantasyhaikyuuexchange17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: What if- The creature of myth- The cold-blooded killer- The murderer-What if, that was nothing but myth?What if, the creature was something more?





	Resounding Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for [avesyna](http://avesyna.tumblr.com/) for the Haikyuu Fantasy Exchange!  
> I'm sorry it's so short, I hope you like it!!
> 
> Inspired by [Guild Wars Faction Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMvcglKzCgE)

A glittering night, the moon high above, reflecting ripples on the lake. The water is pushed by the tiniest of breezes, waves lapping at the shore.

He rests his hand on a willow as he admires the view, its trailing vines tickling him. There’s no one about – the middle of the night, curfew, and of course, the general fear of the creatures that stalk the darkness.

But not him. Never him. He does not fear the creatures that wander past, for that’s all they do – wander, wander, in search of a home. He watches them, bows if they notice him, and they each go their separate paths. He does not approach them, nor they him, and a peace is maintained.

The night is dark, and he has never had a need to fear before. He does not fear them–

A gentle melody, sweet and alluring, floats up from the lake. His eyes fall shut, his body relaxes, he falls against the tree. The tune is silken, smooth; it falls away from him all too easily, entering his ears and disappearing from his mind, leaving him with nothing but a sense of sleepy calm.

It draws him. He knows not how, but perhaps the tune has changed, perhaps its meaning has altered – and now he feels not compelled to sleep, but to approach, to step forward, to open his eyes and meet the one who calls.

His eyelids flutter, draw back. His feet already approach the slope of the hill, the downward incline. His eyes, they are drawn to something on the edge of the lake – something that wasn’t there before. A figure, hair bound up, garbed in white.

No, a multitude of colours; something that glistens in the moonlight, that reflects the rays and throws them into sharp contrast, like the glimmer over the scales of a fish.

Ah. Scales.

He recalls vaguely, the legend of the lake and the creature that lives within.

_A voice of liquid honey, trailing melancholy in their song, in the dance that dips in the ripples of the lake. An echoing ache that nests in the hearts of all who hear the song, drawn to the water’s edge, drawn to step closer, and closer, until the waters close over their heads._

_The creature, that sings– Whose name is–_

The memory flits away, and his toes dip in cool water, startling him back to himself for a moment. He looks now, and sees the white figure slowly turning, treading lightly, arms sweeping in graceful arcs. Their long sleeves trail in the water, but never grow damp – their silhouette seems to float above the water, drifting away from shore. He watches, and watches, watching them dance on water.

And the melody. So soft, so haunting. Drawing him into its net of deeply woven pain, into the hold of its bittersweet symphony.

**_Come, come, come unto me…_ **

**_Hear, hear, can you hear me…?_ **

He sways, mouth opening and closing, wanting to hum along, wanting to turn the lonely song into a duet. But no words come, for there are none in the tune, and he has never been musically inclined – he will break the spell if he tries to sing.

His pants grow wet, water creeping up, fabric sticking to his calves, his thighs. He draws closer, ever closer to the mysterious figure and their terrible, pain-drenched song.

He is almost upon them; he is not drowned. He could reach out and touch the hem of their robe–

They turn in their simple dance, his fingers brush the edge of a sleeve–

He blinks. And again. He looks.

The creature stands before him, plain mask pulled over their face, long sleeves held up in front of their face, protectively, backing away.

He blinks.

Reaches out.

**_Stop._ **

He stops, fingers still outstretched, half unfurled.

**_Leave._ **

His hand drops to his side, he turns and wades out of the lake. His mind is shrouded in glittering fog, a beautiful veil like the fabric that slid through his fingers only moments earlier.

He stops, and turns back.

The creature has lowered their arms, their sleeves, but he still sees not their face, though the glimmer of their robes still entrances him. Smooth and pliable, almost like water, almost too fine to be real.

He cannot stop staring, nor does he want to.

The creature lifts its arms and spins a little, slowly, gracefully, with the softest song.

(He still hears it. He still obeys.)

**_Go, go, go… And don’t come back…_ **

His body turns him back front, pulls him away, and his foggy mind begins to slip away, falling into slumber.

\-----

He remembers now. The creature of legend. The siren, the singer of the lake. The one who does not want to drown others but sings their melancholy.

He can still hear their song. So full of want, of a broken desire to know others, to not be alone.

His heart pounds painfully. The song has taken root inside his heart, and it’s all he can do to keep from bolting out and down to the lake again. All he wants to do is to be a friend to this creature, to ease its loneliness.

It is a fool’s errand, simply madness. But the compulsion upon him is its own madness, and he would rather reach out to the siren and die than resist the call and die anyway.

He is a fool, but a part of him wants to hear the song again. To re-live the calm and shallow reassurance woven into it, the desperation to look out for more.

He wants, he wants, he wants…

He wants to dance beside those robes that will never grow damp, to croon reassurances. He wants to be caught up in the woven web of melody, in the tentative call for companionship. He wants…

(He knows it’s his disillusioned mind speaking, for to walk into a siren's territory willingly is to court death.)

(Yet, it feels like the longer he stays away, the greater the ache grows, until it is a heavy burden that he can barely walk with.)

(Perhaps, it is true. That a siren’s voice will poison you and kill you slowly, no matter if they mean it or not. That he will begin to rot from the inside out because he cannot find them again.)

(A drug, that has him addicted with one shot. A drug, that addles his logic.)

(What is logic, when you have magic?)

\-----

He stands under the willow again, watching the lake through the fringe of its branches. Watches the moon, nearly to its zenith, the ache in his chest halfway subsided. He leans forward as he clutches at the fabric over his heart, the throbbing fading, fading.

(He knows.)

Any time now. Soon, soon, soon.

Like wisps of mist, an ethereal spirit coalesces in the middle of the lake. Robes solidifying from the curls of vapour coming off the lake, beginning to reflect and refract the light of the moon. Sleeves lengthen and dip in the water, sweeping across its surface with barely a ripple. Arms raise, the hem of the robe skimming the water as the siren begins its simple dance.

He recognises that dance.

 _A memory from long ago, a courtesan treading lightly on_ tatami _. The gentle plucking of a_ shamisen _in the background, accompanied by a_ koto. _All eyes are drawn to the figure in the middle of the room, watching colourful sleeves play out a tale, a journey of self-discovery and honour._

_A face, shrouded by shadow, hidden in the dim glow of lanterns. And in the graceful spin, a glimpse; the quiet gleam of gold eyes–_

He is startled back into himself by the water at his ankles. He didn’t know– Hadn’t thought– He’d made it so far, so fast– Would he drown, this time?

The gentle brush of a sleeve over his cheek, the coolness of water accompanying it. He looks up; his feet have stopped. He’s thigh deep in the lake now, the siren before him.

Slim fingers unfurl from inside their sleeve, pale digits tracing his cheekbones while he stands frozen.

**_Why did you come back?_ **

He’s compelled to answer, words falling from nerveless lips. “You called for a companion; I’ve come to answer.”

They draw back, gliding a ways away. His arm stretches out, following their leaving; his heart aches again.

**_You do not know what you speak of._ **

A strong compulsion, almost impossible to resist. But his heart says otherwise, unwilling to give in to the illusion his mind sees. “Then why do I feel the way I do?”

**_A siren’s voice only grants your deepest desires. You cannot feel my pain as I do._ **

He almost believes it.

But…

“Then so be it, that my desire is your companionship. I feel like I might die, if I do not fulfil this compulsion.”

A laugh, but one of unbridled sorrow. He feels as if his heart is being rent in two.

**_There was one such as you before. With your same desire. She died; the lake took her._ **

**_Go. The lake serves only to bring me misery, to take away any joy I might have._ **

The water is up to his waist; he is chilled, and shivers are beginning to wrack his frame. “No. I will not leave. I wish to be a companion to you.”

**_You are a fool._ **

It is a cool observation, a calm accusation. But he feels no fear, no hurt. He knows he speaks true.

“I do not have to stand in the water to be your companion. That I might sit on the water’s edge, and speak with you – to hold but a conversation…”

**_Fool. You are drawn to me still. Anything you hear in my voice will draw you to the water, and your bones will feed the lake._ **

“Then I shall fill my ears with cotton. I shall sit by the shore and watch you dance, and I shall not be drawn in.”

**_Even now, you are nearly drowned. Go._ **

He is up to his neck, the bottom falling out from beneath his feet. He gasps as he slips, as his head plunges beneath the cold surface.

He refuses to give up. He thrashes, throws his head above the water, and swims.

His limbs are leaden, but he hears no voice, he feels not the call to go deeper. He heads for the shore, though he is tired, so tired.

The sand slides out from between his toes; he slips, catches himself on its grains. He gasps and gasps, drawing in great lungfuls of air as he crawls forward, flopping onto his back, trying to regain a semblance of himself.

He sits up when the burning in his lungs subsides; looks out towards the lake. He sees the siren dancing on the water’s surface, treading lightly, lightly.

**_Go. Save yourself._ **

His feet jerk him up, turn towards the mainland.

He forces his head back, calling over the throbbing in his chest. “Call for me. Call, and I will come.

“My name is Kuroo.”

\-----

He is never called. But he goes anyway.

He sticks by his word. He stuffs his ears with cotton, ties himself to the willow. He watches, night after night as the siren performs their lonely dance, their voice echoing in his ears; in his heart.

Every night he is left with rope burns around his torso from struggling, from reaching out and trying to run towards the lake. He can still hear their sorrowful melody despite the cotton, and its beauty haunts him, until he can no longer discern illusion from reality.

He sticks his ears with wax, and he can no longer hear. But the siren’s dance is meaningless without their song, and while he suffers no burns, no injuries that night, he’d rather have them and share in the siren’s suffering.

The next night, he sits by the water’s edge, uncaring. He will bleed if he lashes himself to the tree again, and he will not risk it. If he is injured, he can no longer visit.

The moon is new; it is dark and he cannot see. But he can always hear, and through the cotton, he makes out where the siren is; his calves are wet before he comes back to himself.

Silken water brushes his cheek again, and he stops, leaning into the slightness of their palm.

**_Why must you still come?_ **

“To be your companion,” he answers. He cannot see, but for the stars above, and what he sees…

The siren shakes their head, turning their face to the side. The white mask is pulled, twisted, resting now on the side of their head.

He cannot see but for the light of the stars, but he does not need to. All he sees, all he knows, is that the siren is beautiful.

They look at him, long hair unbound, darkest hair spilling from the crown of their head, fading to pale gold at the ends. They shake their head at him, brushing under his eye with a thumb.

**_You must not see my true form. This is the most you will ever see of me._ **

“I can only see what you wish me to see. I have not the Sight.”

**_That is well._ **

They lean in, raising their other hand, cupping his face gently, gently.

**_You are the only one who has survived as long as you have._ **

“A single moon’s waning?”

**_Indeed._ **

“Will you drown me now?”

**_Why do you ask so?_ **

“Because the compulsion in me fades.”

A single note of resplendent laughter, and he remains still, transfixed, enchanted.

 ** _No,_** they say. **_No._**

**_I do not wish to drown you. You have been kind. You have kept your promise, though I made no such request of you._ **

**_The lake slumbers. But she will awaken on the waxing of the moon. I have one request, and one order._ **

“Anything,” he breathes. He is too far gone. Too far drawn into this web of magic, that he had always avoided before. Too deep into the promise and obligation, though when it had become his own heart’s desire and not a compulsion, he does not know.

**_Dance with me. And after that, you must leave._ **

“What if I do not wish to leave?”

**_Then the lake will drown you._ **

He blinks; the water is up to his thighs. “I will dance.”

A low hum from the siren – but still devastatingly beautiful, the most haunting voice he will ever hear. **_Take my hand._**

He does.

When the siren pulls him, he steps not into water, but on it. He floats above its surface as they do, treading lightly, the faintest ripples blossoming from the touch of his feet.

They dance.

Gently, slowly, stepping round and round in circles, sleeves sweeping the surface of the lake. Brushing skin and fabric, always touching, always connected at some point. The siren never lets go, and he – he does not ask. He suspects that if they let go, he might fall; he might drown, for they are in the middle of the lake now.

They step lightly around each other, palm to palm, the siren’s robes twisting and wrapping around his ankles. They draw near, and pull apart. He cannot see; he cannot tell. But he thinks – he thinks. He thinks he might be taller than them, and the thought makes him smile.

They spin and spin, an odd couple on the dark, still surface of the lake. He, always trying, always seeking to see the siren, to make out its features. And they – they are always turned away, never making eye contact, but never pulling their mask back on, never truly hiding themselves. They dance, and dance…

Their song is as lonely as ever, pure melancholy woven into music. But as he listens, as they sway, he thinks it grows more upbeat. A high note of wistfulness, a resonating call of hope.

**_Don’t you leave me…_ **

He wants to whisper, to reassure, to respond and say–

His feet are on the shore, lips as cool and smooth as water are on his ear. The most bland tone he has ever heard from the siren, murmuring.

**_Goodbye. Live long, Kuroo._ **

**_Don’t you drown, like I did…_ **

His feet whisk him away, over the hill, beyond the willow, and he hears behind him, the most heartbreaking song he will ever hear.

**_Goodbye… Goodbye…_ **

**_Remember me…_ **

His mind is draped with the heaviest veil, his mind wrapped in tight cloths. But he remembers, he remembers, just as he falls, falls into sleep.

_The dancing courtesan, hiding their face at the end of their dance._

_Light footsteps, treading in the inner courtyard of the nobility._

_Hair both gold and dark, fanning over a gorgeous robe as they dance, as they sing. As they perform, under the light of the full moon._

_Gold eyes, smiling for him._

_A face that he knows – has known, since they were babes._

“I remember you…”

Behind him, the siren’s song fades, and the scrap of a name floats up to him.

_Feet walking by the water, screams unheard in the midst of a storm._

_A body, never found._

_A friend, lost._

**_Remember me…_ **

And he does.

“Ken…ma?”

A single low note to mark the end of a song, to end the dance.

He can almost see the siren – his friend – smiling as they fade, dissolve; as they are absorbed into the lake.


End file.
